The Right
by OdanUrr
Summary: The story of how the Fell Right annulled the Nevarran Circle in the 83rd year of the Glory Age.


_In the 83rd year of the Glory Age, the templars guarding the Circle at Nevarra executed a mage for practicing forbidden magic. Three months later, his fellows unleashed a demon on their silent watchers in reprisal. But the demon overpowered templars and mages alike, and was soon loose on the land. A Legion was dispatched to end the threat, and so they did, but the cost was high._

_Less than a year later, Divine Galatea, fearing a repetition of events, granted all the grand clerics of the Chantry the power to purge a Circle in its entirety should they deem it irredeemable. This power would comprise the most skilled warriors of the Templar Order, and they would become known as "The Right of Annulment."_

_This is one of their stories._

* * *

The weather wasn't helping, but they were all familiar with hardship. The long, thin line marched on, indifferent to both rain and wind. Nature might hinder them, but it could never stop them, for they were The Right, and, like death, sooner or later they would always arrive.

The Knight-Captain turned slightly to look upon his men. His vision, already hampered by his hood, was further blurred by the downpour, but he knew exactly where each of them was. He had divided the Legion into five Tenuns of a hundred men, each under the command of a Knight-Corporal. Each Tenun was further divided into five Quads of twenty men, led by a Knight-Sergeant. He retained overall command.

He knew of no other Right that organized its men thus, but his military mind left nothing to chance and was the reason why he was successful were others were not. A long time ago, when he had served as a soldier in the Orlesian Army, he had even encountered the men of the Halamshiral Right. What they lacked in organization and strategy, they made up for in devotion. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he didn't put much stock in gods himself. The Halamshiral Right was led by a Knight-Captain and a Knight-Lieutenant acted as the unit's second-in-command. The rest were templars, some of them Knights, sometimes not even that.

He had seen the value of their tactics firsthand when his unit had been stationed in Val Foret. The Halamshiral Right had been chasing a handful of apostates who had somehow made it all the way across The Heartlands and into Orlais. He had never asked what had drove the Right so far from their lands or why Val Royeaux had not sent its own, their Knight-Commander simply ordered them to provide assistance, and so they did.

The battle was the purest expression of chaos he had ever seen. While there were only four of them, the mages casted destruction spells to sow confusion among the lines. With half the Right leaderless, the mages had an easier time than they should have had, and the officers were killed soon enough. Temporarily assuming command of what men he could muster, he gave orders to form a phalanx shielded at the sides. The formation broke through and struck at the mages. It had been a gory spectacle, mostly because his men weren't really his but remnants of a Right that had been seriously reduced in number and thirsted for the blood of their enemies. The Battle of Val Foret had earned him prestige and rank, but it would still be a few years before command of the Fell Right were his.

"Sir."

His thoughts interrupted, he looked at his own second-in-command, Knight-Lieutenant Roshir. The man did not elaborate, his men were extremely proficient. A single look was enough to inform him that the rear had received an unexpected visitor. Following protocol, they would have politely, but sternly, ordered him to take a detour. Tonight the road belonged to The Right. That should have been the end of it, but Roshir handed over a sealed scroll to him. The symbol on the seal was clear enough, a single eye within a blazing sun. It belonged to the agents of the Divine, her lap dogs, the Seekers of Truth. He sighed, quickly read the message, and nodded approval. A Seeker could not be denied.

A horse soon appeared down the road bearing its unbidden master. There was not even a whisper to be heard in the lines, not a single look was offered to the visitor. They were wondering, yes, but discipline held their gazes forwards. The horse soon halted at his side and the Seeker dismounted. Naturally, the Seeker was a woman. No Divine had ever trusted a man to carry out her bidding. That's history for you.

"Good evening, Knight-Captain. My sources tell me you're heading into Nevarra. Shall we?"

So be it.

* * *

"Are you always this quiet, Knight-Captain?"

He had had the foresight to walk several steps ahead of his men, lest the conversation take an unpleasant turn. So far, it had taken several. It had begun when they reached the second village, the day before. Since they were following the Minanter to the Imperial Highway such encounters could hardly be avoided. It had been a less-than-warm reception and his men reacted with commendable restraint, considering the peasants had tried to jump them with pitchforks and axes. As expected, by the time they realized who it was they had tried to kill, the many and varied acts of contrition had blocked their path. He wasted several minutes soothing their fears of retribution and the unit soon resumed their march. And then the Seeker spoke.

"You showed admirable restraint, if cold detachment. Don't you wonder why they attacked in the first place?"

It would have been pointless to explain he knew the village had been raided by bandits several times over the past month. The villagers' reaction was expected, even admirable. The Seeker didn't press the matter further, but he knew she had rebuked him for not stationing a few men for the village's protection. He could not. It was a simple matter. There were over a thousand mages in Nevarra, discounting whatever demons and abominations they might have conjured up. He had only half the number of men. And if those creatures broke free, bandits would be the least of their concerns.

The road was relatively uneventful beyond that point, a chance encounter with a cart carrying provisions to the villages of Trevis and Caimen Brea to the northwest, a scout returning to Hunter Fell to deliver his report. The conversation, however, was anything but. The Seeker didn't ask or preach so much as poke and prod, forcing him to consider aspects of himself he would sooner not. Having always underplayed the Seekers' famed ability to question even the staunchest of believers he was poorly prepared for the assault on his mental defenses. The irony being, perhaps, that he was a far cry from the zealotry most templars were lauded, and feared, for. Years in the frontlines had taught him the value of pragmatism and the perils of faith. If he were ever in doubt, he had but to remember the Battle of Val Foret.

As if she had somehow perceived his innermost thoughts, the Seeker proceeded to enlighten him on the nature of faith. He heard the words in polite fashion, as was expected of him, but he didn't truly listen. Faith, he had ruled long ago, was a weakness to be exploited, and so he had on numerous occasions in the past. His long list of successes was proof of the wisdom of his ruling. His purpose, if he lived long enough to see it through, would be to enlighten the templars on this simple truth, to see them shed their religious trappings and don the practical life of the soldier. Every army believed the Maker to be on their side, but only those who knew he wouldn't do the actual fighting achieved victory. The sooner the templars realized this, the better. He didn't even want to consider the implications if the mages were to hit upon this truth first.

The matter settled in his mind, the Seeker and the Knight-Captain continued the rest of their journey in silence.

* * *

There were too many of them. The Circle's forces had been overrun long ago, and his own men could not take much more. Of his Legion of five hundred men, less than a hundred now remained. In spite of all his cunning, or maybe because of it, most of his men lay dead at his feet, perhaps having wondered, in those few seconds before their deaths, whether it had all been in vain, whether their leader had led them astray, and whether there was truly a life beyond the end.

The Seeker had warned him, but he had chosen not to listen. He had made an error in judgment. The woman hadn't been another fanatic preaching the word of the Divine as if it were the only truth. No, she was his mirror, his equal, his superior. It wasn't that he didn't believe in the Maker, it was that he believed in nothing at all, and that had left a void he had filled with endless numbers and countless battles, always looking to the next conflict.

Her words had cut deep and only know did he realize why. It had hurt because it was the truth. She was a true Seeker, and what of him? Sooner or later he would be defeated, if not by a superior intellect then by the sheer force of overwhelming numbers. He had always known this, that one day his death would come. Today would be that day.

He looked at the sword in his right hand, drenched in blood. It should have been a tool, but he had let it become his life. He should have used it not to win battles, but to save lives. Not in the name of the Maker, no, nor in anyone else's name. The Seeker had tried to explain.

"Faith comes in many shapes and forms, hope being the strongest of all. In the absence of symbols of hope, people turn to gods for protection and guidance. I don't need you to believe in the Maker, Knight-Captain. The Maker already believes in you."

He looked at her now: calm but defiant, her sword held high, bracing herself for the next wave, most certainly the last. She was a small beacon of hope amidst a sea of despair. He had known that strength himself once, not that long ago. But he had lost many comrades since then, and his faith in man, once his greatest strength, had wavered.

And yet he had comrades still, holding the line, unabashed, unfazed by their looming fate. They knew, just as he did, that they could not let the demons out of the city. If they did, the chaos and devastation they would unleash might very well be unstoppable. Every single one of his men had understood this, and most had given their lives in the hopes it would not be for nothing. How could he betray them so and lose hope himself?

No. That was one betrayal too many. His men were his life, they had shared much, they had gone through countless ordeals together, and they had always found a way. He would not fail them now. He couldn't. He didn't know how.

The fighting renewed more intensely now. The templars had been holding the courtyard that led to the city's outer ring, and demons and mages alike were intent on breaking through. He cut off limbs everywhere with mechanical precision, but there were simply too many of them. His strength, his faith, was not enough to hold them at bay. Overwhelmed, he fell to the ground as he heard one of his sergeants shout the retreat. Some of his men tried to reach him but he had carved his way deep into the enemy lines. There was no going back for him.

Summoning deep reserves of strength he had never known to possess, he regained his footing with the aid of his sword and placed himself squarely between his enemy and the portcullis leading to the outer ring. He raised the tip of his blade, taunting the demons forward. The outcome was predictable, but it no longer mattered. His life was a small price to pay for those of his men, and they might yet find a way to stop this menace with the Seeker's help. That, he realized, was the one truth that had always guided his actions...

The demons stepped forwards, but a few mages held back, uncertain, unsure what to think of the lone templar determined to block their escape. The light of the morning sun reflected off the smooth surface of the blade, no trace of blood could be found. The blade was pristine, untouched.

_That every man could make a difference._

He slowly raised his sword high above his head, his grip tightened, the blade trembled...

_That doing what was right was always better than doing what was easy or expedient._

The light coming off from the blade was blinding now. Some of the mages stepped back in fear, and he thought he heard the rest cast spells, but the world was quickly fading away for him. The demons, however, were relentless and confidently marched forwards. Instinctively, he changed his grip on the blade, the tip now aimed at the ground...

_And that if you could inspire others to do the same, the world would be better for it._

And he struck the ground with an indomitable force that shattered the very foundations of the earth, endless ripples of pulsating energy emanated from the blade, an extension of his will, devastating everything and everyone around him. Demons caught fire, mages were blinded, destroyed, blasted high into the air, and the light engulfed him, greeted him, warmed him. And for a brief moment in history, he became a beacon that shone brighter than any sun before or since.

* * *

_The events that had transpired in Nevarra eventually reached the Divine by way of Knight-Lieutenant Roshir who had survived the encounter. The Fell Right had lost most of its men but had ultimately annulled the Nevarran Circle. The Knight-Captain was posthumously awarded for his heroic, if inexplicable, last stand. A rumor quickly spread that he had called upon the righteous fire of the Maker to smite the demons that would have threatened the people of Thedas. _

_A few years later, the Knight-Captain was canonized by the Divine herself, inspiring thousands to follow his example. And while the Divine marveled at the opportunity that had been handed her, doubt still gnawed at her. A Seeker might have allayed her fears, had the Divine ever sent one. And despite all efforts were made, the Seeker that had accompanied the Fell Right on their legendary march was never found._


End file.
